Turtle Boy

Growing up often comes hand in hand with selective memory. It’s a basic human adaptation necessary for survival. If we remembered the pain of childbirth, nobody would ever have a second kid. If we couldn’t forget that time we tripped and fell, we’d never get up and try walking again. And, as evidenced in M. Evan Wolkenstein’s middle grade contemporary novel, Turtle Boy, if we remembered Middle School in all its glory, we might never be able to force our own children to attend despite their vehement protestations. 

Will, the star of the book, suffers from micrognathia, or small jaw. For some people it rarely causes any issues, but for Will, it has lead to difficulty eating and snoring that could potentially worsen as he gets older. There is even the lurking suspicion that it might have contributed to his father’s unexplained death during a surgery. All of which has lead Will to have an extreme fear of hospitals. Which is definitely a problem, since he’s scheduled to have corrective surgery right after his bar mitzvah. 

Due to his low self esteem and a host of other complex emotional issues, Will hides himself behind hoodies, glasses and books. This earns him the moniker Turtle Boy, which further exacerbates his desire to retreat from the world. In fact, the only place he feels comfortable, is in the wildlife preserve behind his school.

Out on the preserve, Will catches and domesticates wild turtles, even though he knows it is wrong to remove these creatures from the wild. When news spreads that the preserve is being sold to developers, he feels like his only place of refuge is being ripped away. 

Will’s withdrawl from society has lead to other complications beside an unfortunate nickname. A rift forms between his few remaining friends due to his inability to communicate what is bothering him and to understand that other people have their own problems. Plus, he has chickened out of every opportunity to complete the community service hours required for his bar mitzvah. Enter Rabbi Harris, the hippie-yet-oddly-wise, Hebrew school teacher. He pairs Will up with RJ, a non Jewish teen with a terminal mitochondrial disorder that has left him confined to the hospital.

The relationship is pretty rocky at first, but pretty soon Will finds himself emerging from his own shell to fulfill RJs requests. Along the way, he learns a lot about himself, how to be a true friends and maybe even help the nature preserve.

I’m not going to lie, this book had me tearing up. Although it is obvious from the beginning that RJ is extremely I’ll, watching this all play out through Will’s eyes, hit me like a freight train. I also got very misty eyed over Will’s progress towards a nuanced understanding what it means to tease and be teased, how to stand up for a friend, and how to protect the turtles he so loves. 

There are a host of secondary characters that are handled with both extreme gentleness and a vibrant sense of humor. From the acerbic girl who works at the pet shop to the nurse that Will keeps giving the side eye, everybody is allowed to fully develop as a character. Nobody is black and white. And nobody finds a magical, or even medical, solution to their emotional problems or broken self image. It takes hard work and this book does not shy away from that.

Will learns that surgery will not correct the way he sees himself, nor will it change how others view him. Most of all, he learns that letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. It simply allows you to keep on living so that you can keep on remembering- in a way that selects the good over the bad. 

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E Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.